A Lovely Contradiction
by RaMMYz
Summary: Prussia's life as the German Democratic Republic after 1945. A relationship of suffering and dependence on a man he swore he'd hate. Post 1945, with pre-1945 flashbacks
1. The punishment, escape and memories

Iron, he hated iron. Iron in instruments that _he_ used, the taste of iron in his blood, and even that metaphorical Iron Curtain. Gilbert hated it all. In his younger days iron, metal, and wood decorated him as a soldier, helped move, build and fight for him. Now the elements worked against him as a tool of oppression and depravity. Stone and concrete was used in constructing buildings to keep him strong. Yet all he saw of the two was a wall imprisoning him and the floor of his provisional cell, beneath him. The worse however was fabric: wool, cotton, linen-all fabrics. They once comforted and hugged his small frame, showing the world his status and who he deemed as worthy enough to serve under, The gray material that strangled him now showed the world he was broken, submissive, and reduced to no more then the Russian's play thing. Ivan Braginsky, Russia, the Soviet Union, however you wish to address him, had become Gilbert's master. To Gilbert, Ivan was his captor and savior, a bastard and an angel, his worse enemy and his best friend. Their relationship was nothing but a contradiction of pain and pleasure. Even since their childhood, they had been allies one day and the next, wanted to rip each others' throats out.

To the days of the Teuton wars where Ivan (with the help of General Winter) drowned and defeated the white-clad warriors. The Napoleon wars they fought together against the French oppression, however short-lived. Russia had sold out the Prussian battle plans to save the lives of his soldiers. The late 18th Century, Russia joined forces with France and Austria. However, with the death of Russia's leader, the tides of war changed, and he and Prussia would now be allies. The construction of the Amber Room in 1701, a joint peace move between their leaders. It was later destroyed by Ludwig in the 20th century. Gilbert and Ivan along with Ludwig, joined forces to capture their neighbor Feliks, Poland. However, after only three years of non-aggression, Ludwig's boss ordered an attack against Russia. Gilbert obeyed, afraid to anger the tyrant who now ruled his land. There they committed terrible acts against Ivan and his sisters. The Soviet family eventually fought back gaining the upper hand and Gilbert had to regrettably retreat taking punishment from the terrible Dictator.

Then it was 1945. Somehow Gilbert ended up chained in Russia's house. He somehow lost the name Prussia was thus dubbed the German Democratic Republic, East Germany, or Ost for short. He somehow allowed Ivan to rip out his heart and replace it with the half-piece-of-crap heart that was East Berlin. Somehow a wall was built keeping West and East separated and kept Russia's toy close to him. It forced Gilbert to serve the USSR, economically and militarily. Forced him to depend on Ivan, or face death. It forced Ost to hate iron, metal, stone, wood, wool, cotton and linen. He hated Ivan Braginsky, Russia, and at the same time loved him. He became Gilbert's lifeline and poison, a drug that neither could quit.

Gilbert spit blood onto the stone floor, with it the taste of iron. He sat on the wooden bench held to the wall by metal chains. Ivan handed him a linen cloth to whip the remaining blood and sweat from his broken face.

"You should stop being so stubborn," Braginsky's voice was as cold as ever, but had grown more stern over the years. Nothing like the sadistic child-like voice of yesteryear.

"Ch...You should stop being such an ass," Gilbert said, the obvious sarcasm bouncing off the stone walls. His eyes were closed, head resting against the wall behind him, left hand on his swollen left eye. His gray uniform jacket and black tie had been left in his room some days ago. At this point only his boots, gray pants, and white button-up remained, covered in blood.

He removed his hand and began rolling his sleeves up, preparing for another conflict if it arose. He finally looked back at Russia. The communist country stood, strong and calm as ever, bearing his trademark smile. Past him the cell door had been left open, to tease little Ost if he tried to make a run for it, knowing he'd never be able to make it. Ivan stepped towards Gilbert, smiling as happily as ever, which stung deeper then the sickle and hammer on Ivan's hat.

"Your vocabulary hasn't improved," the Russian said, sitting on the bench next to Gilbert. This was one of those moments of love and hate. Neither country minded the closeness. If anything it was comforting after their quarrel. Ost breathed deeply and leaned his head back against the wall again. Ivan stared at him, his ward was broken, again, by his hands, again. He couldn't decide if he liked the small German in this condition or not. It seemed red was a permanent color on Gilbert's face.

Since 1947 he hadn't gone a day without something bandaged or stitched. When he misbehaved, i.e. attempt to get past the wall, Ivan would incapacitate him, drag him down to these cells and administer punishment. Gilbert was used to waking up at random hours either covered in blood or chained to the wall in this room. Ost had his own room in the main house, but it seemed he made so many escape attempts he lived more in this stone hell-hole. It wasn't all bad, there were times were the two would get along, drank and ate together, even walked out together. Those times never lasted long, Gilbert would get ambitious or say something that would send Ivan off the deep end. Then it was back down the assortment of stairs and into the cell. Once Ost screwed up so badly by trying to escape right in front of Ivan. Then the Communist didn't care about his iron torture instruments, he just beat Gilbert to a bloody mess right in front of the wall. Ivan meant to make an example of the Gilbert, although the fighting spirit of the German was slowly diminishing it hadn't yet been stomped out. Recently, Ost had began agreeing with Ivan, he belonged to the Russian in body but refused to acknowledge Ivan's ownership of his soul. That meant that all those who died trying to make it over the wall had died in vain. That those East Germans who still fought Socialist oppression would be fighting alone.

Gilbert's eyes were now open, sensing the Russian's piercing stares. He'd already received his punishment, but Gil sensed Ivan's loneliness these days. He sighed and stared hard at the open cell door. He saw the escape in his mind and wondered if he had tried it before. The Russian had moved his head to rest on Ost's shoulder, a messed up sign on affection, he must have been exhausted. Gil caught himself feeling worried for his tormenter and shook the thoughts from his head. He returned his attention to the open door before it. Without another moments hesitation he made a dash for it. The Russian nearly fell over, half his weight had been supported by Gilbert previously. Within an instant, Gilbert was face down on the floor, the hands he held out to stop his fall were in immense pain and slipped under him, his head slamming into his upper arms. Ivan managed to catch the Germans ankle with the curve of his pipe. And so the ballet continued, Russia stood above the German Democratic Republic, pipe swinging back and forth administering blow after blow, kicking him at random points just to spice this particular beating up. He smiled, and perhaps even laughed at Gil's new faulty attempt, he ha completely predicted it. The head of he plumping tool was covered in fresh blood, painting and replacing the old, dried up spots of the last time he had used the weapon. It made a hideous sound as it collided with Gilbert's frame.

Gilbert clawed his way to the wall while Ivan beat him. The pain would only last a little longer, he'd tel himself. Another blow to the arm prevented him any further movement. The wall would have provided support. Gilbert hated being beat to the ground, he believed he bled faster if he wasn't sitting upright. Holding his mid-section he attempted to curl into the fettle position, but Ivan delivered a blow to his upper back that prevented this closeness with himself. His face remained determined and angry, but the tears fell like streams from his swollen eyes.

Ost didn't mind crying in front of the Soviet, he had done so many times out of physical and mental pain, or just trying to let off steam since Ivan was the only one who'd listen to the dying country's woes and worries. He could remember a point in the very beginning were he'd refuse to let Ivan see his tears. Gilbert would bite his lip or clench his fist, anything to hold it in. Now he let them fall freely, knowing that after the punishment Braginsky would be there with a linen cloth to wipe his tears and hold his broken body, stitching or bandaging him if Gilbert needed it.

The final blow was dealt, Gilbert screamed as the pipe came slamming down on his left hand. His voice had grown hoarse, and soon only heaves of breathe came out. Ivan was out of breathe, he was hunched over leaning on the bloody pipe. After a few minutes Russia made his way to door. He didn't bother wiping the blood from his face, his white shirt and black uniform pants were drenched in it. Poor Lithuania would spend the night trying to get the stains out. On the way out of Ivan grabbed his standard scarf and black and red uniform coat hanging threw the cell bars. He stared through the bars at his broken partner, finally achieving the desired fetal position. Russia gathered his belongings leaving the door open, Ost was allowed to walk around as he wished now, it'd be at least a few hours before he could move his limbs and at least a day before he could walk again. If the little German was lucky one of the Baltic brothers or the other satellite countries would travel down to help him.

References:

~the gray uniform- The NVA uniform of National People's army(_Nationale Volksarmee Army)._Gilbert would most likely be forced to wear this uniform after 1956.

If you are confused about anything else, leave a message in reviews and I'll clear it up!


	2. Reminising in Water

Ch. 2

_"You can't do this! It's insane!" East screamed._

_"More insane then the crimes your brothers and you committed over the last decade?" The short blonde seemed more pissed then usual._

_Gilbert backed off, looking away when the truth stared him in the face._

_"Come on , don't make this harder!" The tall Russian placed strong hands on Gilbert's shoulders._

_Gilbert pulled away and grabbed for his brother. Ludwig mirrored him, throwing his arms out to hold East. Six hands wrapped themselves around the tall blonde, pulling him away, separating him. The Russian hugged Gilbert's midsection, tearing him back. Arms still outstretched to each other, Ludwig was on the verge on tears calling out for his brother, Gilbert continued to spew swears and threats. His fit grew so big that Ivan was forced to hoist him up and carry him out f the room. Carry him away from his freedom, happiness, and his brother._

There he was again, staring into a reflection of his broken self. Gilbert touched his left eye, it was swollen shut. He moved his throbbing arm down to his nose, at least it didn't break this time. His upper lip had an open cut on the right side and his right cheek had a gash from the edge of the pipe. He sighed, exhaling and inhaling, wanting to scream, but it would have hurt even worse: 3, maybe 4 ribs were broken. He'd have to wrap his chest tonight.

The scars of his past were nothing compared to the scars he received weekly; it used to be daily.

His eyes haunted him the worse. The dark circles that had formed as a result of stress and lack of sleep mad his scarlet eyes even brighter, or perhaps it was mocking his communist life style. His once ash blonde locks had grown a bit and where now white. He looked completely different and wondered if any of his old friends would still recognize him. Maybe he was always like this and his dreams about leading troops in ancient battles were becoming a constant daydream that he depended on to keep his sanity. Was he ever a powerful nation, an Empire, a Kingdom?

He slowly walked towards the old tub, using the wall for support. He knelt down turning the knobs. The pipes hissed and screamed as the steamy water shot through the faucet. He took a deep breathe, careful not to move to quickly into his heavenly basin. Gilbert drew the curtain leaving another bloody hand print that he'd have to clean off later.

The water was refreshing, it warmed his broken frame, relaxing him and washing away the blood, dirt and sweat. The surface stains might have been whipped away but the pain would be there for awhile. After a few minutes the all too familiar feeling of lightheaded-ness overtook him, and he slowly sat down.

This was his routine, after every beating or worse, he would make his way back to the bathroom, checking his body for the new arrivals and washing the filth from him. Gilbert tried to hold the scream in as he breathed, moving his knees up to hug his legs, he hated broken ribs the most. He only once had to get immediate medical attention, because they had broken into his lung. By immediate, it meant after Russia was done, well, after he was done with Gilbert. He thanked god that his kind could live with such a fatal wound. It wouldn't have been the first time that Gilbert had lived with a fatal wound or a missing organ.

His hand moved to the left side of his chest, were his largest scar was visible. The memory of that tea sipping bastard air raiding Königsberg. His heart hurting so much. Then the Russian came, he came with his scalpel and his needle and he cut Gilbert's heart out of his chest. Lightheaded from the pain, he had passed out, but not before Ivan replaced his old heart with a new one, well half of one. Small distorted East Berlin now resided in his chest cavity. The few days after he didn't move from his bed, from pain and fear that he would surely die.

It wasn't as bad now as it used to be in his first few years. His escape plans weren't as numerous or had much ambition or determination. The Russian had truly bent him to his ruling, mind and body. He hated complete submission but it was just more...well more comfortable. The worse was he had wished for Ivan to be there now in the shower to hold him and listen to his tears. Gilbert slammed his fists into the floor of the tub. These thoughts needed to stop, he didn't want to like Ivan, but damn it the time had come where he now had to depend on him fully. His people all had jobs and were at least surviving.

Ludwig used to sit with him over a few pints and listen to his constant bitching. He missed those 1 am walks home, but now they were only distant memories, or, did they even happen at all? He wanted to scream at how pathetic he had become, now completely enslaved to the Soviet Union.

Gilbert sighed and reached forward, wincing as he did, and turned the knobs. The soothing warmth stopped instantly. He sat in the tub for a few more minutes before pulling the plug and slowly stepping onto the tiled floor.


	3. Truely PoeticMATURE WARNING

Gilbert kicked in the door to Ivan's study the first day of his imprisonment demanding to be released. He stumbled a bit; pain shot through his body, the wounds were still fresh from the war. Gil was already pissed that he woke up in a small disheveled excuse for a bedroom, missing half his uniform and no shoes in site. The walk to the study had left his feet almost numb from the cold floors, it didn't help that he had trouble putting one foot in front of the other.

"You think you're cute?! Knocking a guy out and dragging him back to your house? Where are the rest of my clothes?!" Gilbert continued to spew questions in between threats. Meanwhile, Ivan stood and walked around his desk to better face his intruder. He was completely prepared for this, knowing how Gilbert would react. The German stopped talking when the taller man moved closer. He stumbled back a bit, his headache was aching.

"What do you think is happening?" he asked bending down to be eye level with Gilbert, attempting to check his pupil dilation, making sure the head trauma wasn't too bad.

"You fucking kidnapped me! I…I don't know!" Gilbert's voice was still a bit hoarse but it was a scream none the less. Ivan continued his inspection of his new territory. "I can't remember much since the Reichstag raid...and…and West crying." Gilbert smacked Ivan's hand away before it could slip into his white button-up oxford. Ivan laughed; he stood, looming over the German. The atmosphere drastically changed as the Russian's smile showed daggers. In one fluid motion he was behind the old Prussian, one arm wrapped around, holding his arms to his side, the other moved to his face covering Gilbert's eyes.

"You've been separated, all completely legal. England, France and the Patriot have your defeated brother."

He forced Gilbert's head back making it easier to whisper closer into his ear. Gilbert jeered but said nothing, "And you, little Ost, you belong to me now"

The hand flew from his face and his large fingers wrapped themselves around the cross on Gilbert's neck. He pushed Gilbert to the ground pulling the symbol of honor and German heritage from him.

Gilbert hit the ground. In an instant he realized what had been taken, and retaliated, standing up and throwing a punch at the Russian. An idiotic move, Ivan back handed him, causing him to yet again fall to the ground.

Ivan smirked and stepped forward, purposely stepping on Gilbert's right hand. He screamed, feeling every crack or break. Gilbert rolled over onto his knees facing the desk, cradling his throbbing hand.

"Fuck you, Soviet Bastard!"

Another hand to his face and Gilbert was back on the ground.

"You need to learn some respect, Ost!" Ivan said, barely looking down at his broken prisoner, holding up the small trinket to the light from the sun shining through the large window behind his desk. "Welcome to my home, my family, East Germany!" Ivan whispered.

Gilbert screamed and with all his might, stood and pushed Ivan back, slamming him into the desk. "Don't you DARE call me that, dreckiger Slave!"

That did it, he was going to let the little shit off easy at first, it was a troubling week and he didn't want Gilbert to over exert himself. Ivan really didn't want to break Gilbert if he could avoid it, but he knew the Prussian pride all too well. The last comment however could not be overturned, now it was personal.

Ivan pushed off the desk, forcing Gilbert to fall back to the floor. He grabbed a handful of silver hair dragging Gilbert back to the desk; the younger nation struggled, trying to realize him. The Russian's other hand sent the items on its top cascading to the floor; the objects hit a nearby pole knocking it over, a thin material landed on the tan, oak desk. Ivan smirked "How poetic"

He picked him up by the hair bending him over the desk roughly. Gilbert opened his eyes, the red material was almost blinding, and Ivan pushed Gil's face harder into the desk bending over him. "You and your disgusting brothers, trumping through my lands. Killing, torturing...raping my civilians, my children! How dare you fight me now after the horrors you've committed." He leaned in closer. "You have no right; you don't even deserve to scream!"

He knew it then, the memories of the black boots stomping through villages, the bombings, and the gunfire…the camps. His mind had been in a fog over the last few hours, after getting knocked out in the Reichstag building in the last battle of the war. "_How long ago had that been?_" he thought. He remembered waking up in a hospital-like room, fading in and out and…West…West crying, his arms outstretch.

East had been separated from West. Gilbert was now to live with Russia, the one man he plotted to beat, humiliate, and destroy on the cold, winter battlefields of Stalingrad. Now, Ivan held him down, now Ivan had the upper hand and threatened to humiliate him. The worst part was that everything the Russian said was right. He really had no right to fight back, to scream or threaten.

This was punishment, or perhaps the beginning of punishment for his recent crimes against humanity. Back and forth, roughly, the red fabric that covered the hard wood desk did nothing for comfort other then something to squeeze in order to deal with the extreme agony. The structure itself made a horrible creaking noise every time Ivan moved forward, not used to the exceeding weight. The pain continued to grow and it was more of a struggle to stay silent; he would surely bleed to death if he bit his lip. The large Russian hands danced wildly on his back and thighs; scratching as he worked while his teeth claimed Gilbert's neck and collarbone. Gilbert took everything that was thrusted into him, finally the pain conquered the orders of silence and he let out a thunderous scream. Ivan pushed his face into the fabric bellow, attempting to forcibly muffle his cries with the Soviet flag.

It ended in a mix of pain and pleasure, a feeling that Gilbert never had the _joys _of experiencing; he seldom was on the bottom. His mind was mentally spent; he desperately tried to forget that he orgasmed at all. Ivan grabbed a handful of silvery hair pulling the abused body up, forcing his head back in an awkward position, Gilbert almost choked on the long tongue as it invaded his mouth. The Russian pulled out harshly stepping back to observe his conquest. Gilbert was still bent over the desk, his still spread legs began to wobble and he slowly slipped off. With nothing behind him to support his fall he gently grabbed the flag, but it made no difference. He fell hard on his back to the floor, the flag covering his naked, bleeding and now cum-filled body. He blinked a few times, only his eyes moved, searching for Ivan, a few more blinks and East Germany slipped into an unconscious state.


End file.
